Dante's Penitentiary
by Ericka Jane
Summary: What if making a crossroads deal wasn't a deal for eternity? What if instead it was only for a certain number of earth years, a prison sentence of the most hellish kind? A different look at 2.22 with Sammy whump and angsty goodness all around.
1. Dante's Penitentiary

Notes: The events of Cold Oak are all the same (the 'survival' game, Jake killing Sam, ect) the only difference is I moved Cold Oak to the beach, and I tweaked Dean's deal.

Warnings: Angst, hugging, crying, bleeding, lots of paragraph breaks, and a happy ending.

Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine nor are any of the direct quotes.

* * *

><p><strong>Dante's Penitentiary <strong>

"_You were standing in the wake of devastation  
>And you were waiting on the edge of the unknown<br>And with the cataclysm raining down  
>Insides crying "Save me now"<br>You were there, impossibly alone."_  
>Linkin Park – <em>Iridescent<br>_

* * *

><p>Sweat steadily beads and drips on Dean's skin. The cabin's too warm, filled with thick, humid air that tastes and smells like saltwater; sand dusts the floorboards and makes a rough gritting sound under his boots. Dean can hear the roll and crash of waves in the near distance, a steady lull that's too peaceful for the raw pain he's feeling. In the corner a fly rests and twitches, filling Dean with a sickening combination of fear, horror, and denial.<p>

They've always loved the ocean. Growing up they didn't get to see it very often but the ocean holds some of his best memories. Like he and Sammy getting drunk on the beach on Sam's seventeenth birthday, just laughing and drinking too much beer, shoving each other into oncoming waves, and checking out the local women. Or the time in South Carolina when Sam was twelve and wanted to go to the faire that was set up on Myrtle Beach, and they blew all their money on empty calories and games that they easily outsmarted. Or this last time just a year ago right after Jessica died, when they sat on top of a mountainous sand dune with a bottle of whiskey between them, and let the ocean do the talking.

Dean's never going to think of the ocean the same way ever again.

Sam's too still and too pale, all traces of his California tan gone. Dean can't look away and he doesn't know why. The longer he stares at Sam's motionless chest, the more unbearable the burn behind his eyes becomes. There's a pain inside of him that he can't pinpoint or describe but he knows it hurts worse than any injury he's ever gotten on a hunt, and he knows that no doctor in the world can take away the agony.

There's still blood under Dean's fingernails and crusted on his cuticles. He tried to get it off before realizing how useless it was without a washcloth or something to scrub them clean. There was just too much of it. He mindlessly picks at it until it flakes off and his own blood wells up in its place, something that goes unnoticed until blood is dripping from the cuticle on his thumbnail. He clenches the injured digit in his hand and forces himself to stop.

The sun's coming up; the inky black shadows in the room are brightening into a deep navy blue. Sam still looks gray, his lips bloodless. The room's too silent and hot, and Sam's dead and Dean doesn't know what to do, doesn't even know how to make himself move out of the chair he's been sitting in for hours.

Until he does.

* * *

><p>The drive takes ten minutes but it feels like a lifetime before he finally slams on the breaks and fishtails on the unstable sandy dirt road. He never told Sam and he will never tell him, but he's had this box made up for weeks, ever since incident with Evan and the hellhounds. He didn't plan on using it –not really – but he felt comforted having that option; prepared. He never imagined he'd be using it for this.<p>

Dean digs frantically, getting dirt in his eye and cutting himself on a stray shard of glass. He doesn't notice the irritations. The only he stops is to stand up to kick the dirt over the box in the center of the crossroads.

Dean holds his breath while he waits for the demon to show it's face. After a few heart stopping moments he doesn't think it will, and true panic and desperation starts to settle in. The reason they never saw the ocean much as kids was because there aren't many hunts near the coast. The salt in the air and water does a pretty good job of repelling the things they usually come after – including demons.

"Dean Winchester; well this _is_ an honor. Not many demons would make this trip, you know. But I just couldn't pass this opportunity up." The demon's deep southern accent is condescending and ravenous; she doesn't make it a secret how eager she is to make this deal.

Dean wishes he could be ashamed of the relief that settles into his chest, warm and welcome, but he isn't. He really isn't.

The deal's for three years. Three years in hell in return for Sam, safe and sound. It's a steal as far as Dean's concerned because he'd spend twenty, thirty, fifty years in hell if it meant Sam would be able to live. Three years is barely a drop in the bucket.

* * *

><p>The race back to the cabin takes even longer than the drive to the crossroads did, and Dean's heart is pounding the whole time. He knows it worked. It had to have. He made a deal and crossroad demons don't bullshit or break deals. Still, there's a tight feeling in his chest that's making it hard to breathe, a feeling that won't go away until he sees that Sam's ok again.<p>

Walking into the cabin feels like teetering on the edge of the cliff. The adrenaline's keeping him on steady ground but he knows that if he walks in that room and Sam's still dead, then he'll topple right into the chasm below.

But Sam's alive. Sam's alive, breathing, and looking like he just woke up from a bender in a town other than the one he started in. It's the best thing Dean's ever seen.

There's a question on Sam's face and he opens his mouth to ask it but Dean's faster, and he has his little brother in his arms before Sam can even get a syllable out. He holds on tight, feeling like if he lets go then Sam's going to collapse back to the ground, dying and bleeding out. Dean squeezes just a bit tighter and then registers Sam's pained hiss. He releases Sam from the hug but doesn't completely break contact.

Sam asks what happened and a new kind of fear fills Dean. How's he supposed to tell him? How's he supposed to tell Sammy that he let him down in the worst way? How's he supposed to tell him what he did?

Dean swallows and tries to pull it together, but his anxiousness only increases when he looks at Sam's confused, expectant face.

"I need to tell you something."

Sam doesn't take it well. The blowout leaves Sam with tears and snot running down his face, and blood dripping from Dean's nose. Sam's hands are shaking when he brings them up to run them through his hair in distress.

Dean rubs the blood from his face with the back of his hand, "I'm not sorry."

Sam's face crumples further and fresh tears roll down his face. Dean hesitantly approaches him, waiting for Sam to throw another punch or shove him away, but instead he grabs Dean by the jacket and pulls him in. This time, it's Sam hanging on as if Dean is about to disappear.

* * *

><p>They leave Cold Oak and hit the liquor store. It's ten in the morning, too early for Jack, but desperate times and all. They have fourteen hours until Dean's deal comes due and they don't really care about anything other than making the most of it. They get lunch and eat in silence. There isn't much to say and anything they could say would end in tears or in blood, so they just eat.<p>

They end up on the beach, less than a mile away from where Dean made the deal. Tourist season is over so the place is nearly deserted, something that they're both thankful for. They sit themselves on a small sand dune, just a hill really. There's a dock a few yards away with a small pathway that leads up to it. The path is made up of sand covered drift wood, the kind that's all soft and shiny from years of sand blasting. The waves are smooth and slow as they roll in, easing up onto the shore. They sit in silence for a long time with the whiskey between them and their shoulder touching, just staring at the horizon.

Sam's the first to break the silence an hour later.

"What am I supposed to do?"

Dean smiles and it's small and remorseful, because just four hours ago he was wondering the same thing. But Sam's always been the stronger one and Dean knows he's going to get through this.

"Keep fightin.' Take care of my wheels. Remember what dad taught you; remember what I taught you."

Dean hears Sam sniff and he knows he's crying again, so he shifts a bit closer and hands Sam the bottle of Jack. Sam takes it without a word.

"I'm coming back, Sammy."

Sam takes a drink and sniffs again, scrubbing away the tears that are on his face. "I know."

He knows but it doesn't make it hurt any less, it doesn't change the fact that Dean's going to hell for him. He wants to scream at Dean for being a hypocrite, for doing what their dad did months ago that hurt Dean so badly and is now killing Sam in return. He wants to know if Dean's going to have some peace now, now that he feels as if he's paying his dues by suffering and dying like their dad did for him. But he doesn't because he doesn't really want to know, and he doesn't want to fight when they're down to twelve hours left together.

Sam passes the bottle back.

Dean stares out at the ocean and grabs the bottle without a glance, bringing it up to his lips. After he takes a drink he smiles gently, "When you were a kid and you had a fight with dad, you always said you were gonna run away to the ocean. Most kids want to go to the circus but you were all about the beach. Never would've thought that one day you would."

The subject of Stanford hangs between them like it has a million other times but this time, neither of them touch it. Right now, it seems like the most insignificant event that has ever occurred in their lives.

"I don't think I'm going to like the ocean very much after this," Sam says.

Dean takes another drink and passes the bottle back, "You n' me both."

It's sad, Sam thinks, because they've both always loved the beach. The ocean holds some of his best memories, even before Stanford. Like when they spent all day getting drunk in the sand on his birthday, and Dean covered for him so that he wouldn't get in trouble with their dad. Or when they went to the faire and Dean spent every last dollar on him, even though Sam told him not to. Or last year when he was so broken up over Jessica that Dean drove him to the beach without a word, and just let him cry it out with a bottle of alcohol. Kind of like now.

The thought makes new tears well up in his eyes. In less than twelve hours Dean's going to be gone, because once again he sacrificed everything for Sam. Sam wishes that for once he could sacrifice something so that Dean didn't have to suffer.

* * *

><p>When the sun goes down the bottle of Jack is almost gone, they're both more drunk than not, and Sam's starting to panic.<p>

"Sam, Sammy, hey," Dean says and cups Sam's face in his hands to grab his attention, "When it starts gettin' down to the wire I want you to get in the car and drive. I want you to go to Bobby's, tell him what happened, and let him watch your back until I'm topside again, ok? I swear to God if I get back just to find out that you got yourself killed on a hunt, I'll make another deal just so I can give you the beat down of a lifetime. You hearin' me?"

Sam blatantly and flat out refuses to leave before midnight. Dean's trying to spare him and while Sam appreciates it, he's not going to leave his brother's side until he absolutely has to. Dean would do it for him and that's more than enough.

* * *

><p>It's ten to twelve when Dean takes off his amulet and leather jacket and hands them both to Sam, who bites his lip hard as he attempts to keep in the sobs.<p>

"You 'member what I told you?" Dean asks even though he knows they're words Sam will never forget. Sam nods anyways. Dean half smiles in attempt to reassure his brother and maybe reassure himself, but it doesn't do much besides give away how scared he really is.

* * *

><p>It's five minutes to. The beach is dark, lit up with moonlight that reflects and breaks in the water as the waves roll. Sam clutches Dean's jacket hard enough to cramp his fingers, just so he can stop himself from clinging to Dean instead.<p>

* * *

><p>Two minutes to midnight Sam drops the jacket and hugs Dean tight enough for it to be uncomfortable for them both. Dean lets him.<p>

"I'm coming back, Sammy," Dean repeats and Sam wishes to God that it could be enough.

* * *

><p>One minute to midnight and Dean backs away from Sam, just enough to get space between them again. Dean smiles gently and ruffles Sam's hair, "No chick flick moments."<p>

Sam laughs but it sounds more like a sob, and he nods even though there are tears streaming down his face. The pain he's feeling right now is unlike anything he's ever felt before. It's twenty times worse than a knife twisting and severing his spinal cord, and a hundred times worse than dying. It's a feeling Sam never wants to feel again but knows he's going to be unable to escape for the next three years.

* * *

><p>Midnight.<p>

A growl echoes behind Dean and the eldest Winchester can't help but tense up. Panic flashes across Sam's face like a beacon. He can tell from his brother's body language that there's something there he can't see.

"Sammy, don't move."

Then Dean hits the ground. Sam jerks as his natural reaction to help hits him full force. He pushes it back down even though his whole body is vibrating with the need to save Dean. The hound must have Dean by the ankle because blood is blossoming right above Dean's boot, and the invisible force is starting to tug Dean away, down the dock.

Sam wants to run after him; the urge is almost unbearable. The only things keeping him in place are Dean's words and the promise he made him.

The hound pulls Dean off the dock; Sam hears the splash and the cut off scream. Dean's gone.

There are no sounds left besides the waves breaking and Sam's muffled sobs. He's trembling when he finally forces himself to move, Dean's jacket in one hand and the keys to the Impala in the other. When he starts the car and the familiar rumble thunders through the empty street, Sam swears he can hear every last piece of his heart break.

* * *

><p>The drive to Bobby's doesn't take long or maybe it takes forever, but Sam isn't really sure. When Bobby answers the door he takes one look at Sam and the empty space next to him, and just knows.<p>

"Ah, kid," He says and then pulls Sam in before he even has the chance to explain. It's a good thing, too, because Sam couldn't speak right now if he tried.

The first thing they do is hunt down Jake. It's a close call; Jake's mind mojo doesn't work on Sam but it does work on Bobby. Sam is barely quick enough to stop Jake from taking away the last shred of family he has. Sam empties the whole clip in him before Jake even realizes what happened. When the echo of the last bang fades, Sam takes a moment to relish in the fact that the bastard who's responsible for all his pain and Dean's suffering is dead. The taste of revenge is only sweet for a moment before it turns bitter in his mouth. He wonders what Dean would think if he could see him now. If the look Bobby's giving him is anything to go by, it wouldn't be anything good.

Instead of thinking about it too much, he ignores Bobby's stare, picks up the Colt that Jake dropped, and walks soundlessly back to the Impala.

* * *

><p>Six months later has Sam in the hospital with a broken leg and a fractured arm. Turns out poltergeists and office building are a terrible mix. Bobby curses him to high hell for going in so unprepared and distracted, without backup or a plan B. Sam just shrugs from his position in the hospital bed and says flatly, "Just didn't see it coming."<p>

Story of his life.

* * *

><p>A year after Dean's deal Sam gets Yellow Eyes. It would've been sooner if it hadn't taken so long to track down the right incantation. He still had the supply list his dad gave him after the crash, but the incantation was under lock and key in John's mind. But Sam is nothing but tenacious and after a lot of coffee, late nights, and blurry words, he found it.<p>

He does the ritual in the old cowboy cemetery in Wyoming – the same place he took down Jake.

"Sammy Winchester. I certainly wasn't expecting a phone call from you."

Yellow Eyes is as arrogant as ever, still convinced that he holds all the cards. It makes the weight of the Colt in Sam's hand that much sweeter and reassuring.

Sam smirks a bit, "Just tying up loose ends." He pulls back the hammer on the Colt and aims dead center for the demon's heart.

Yellow Eyes looks amused, "You should know better, Sam."

Sam feels a tug of energy at his back and he knows without a doubt that the demon is trying to telepathically hurl him through the air. But Sam doesn't move.

The confusion and disbelief that registers on Azazel's face is just as comedic as it is satisfying.

"How're you…"

"Funny thing about having nothing but time on your hands," Sam says and reaches into his pocket to pull out a black hex bag, "You pick up new tricks. Demon proof." He shoves the hex bag back in his jacket and returns both hands to the Colt, "This ends now."

He pulls the trigger. Azazel's body flashes yellow as he sinks to his knees, a shocked expression frozen on his face. Sam stands over him as the yellow fades from his eyes and fades to hazel.

"For my family, you son of a bitch."

Sam drives all night to go back to the beach where Dean made the deal. When he gets there it's already morning and he's exhausted, stumbling through the sand like a zombie. He collapses on the beach and the morning tide washes up and soaks his knees. He starts talking about how he killed Jake and Yellow Eyes, and about how badly he wished Dean were there to share the victory because he deserves it more than anyone.

When Sam finally gets up his jeans are soaked, his eyes are bloodshot, and he misses his brother more than ever.

* * *

><p>After that he hunts. He hunts and he sleeps and he eats. Bobby calls sometimes to check in and Sam always answers. He owes both Bobby and Dean that much.<p>

* * *

><p>It's three months until Dean's sentence is up. Sam catches wind of a string of murders popping up in Virginia that aren't necessarily unusual, but something about the whole thing seems off. There were ten murders in two and a half weeks with no concrete evidence, no apparent connection between the victims, and no suspects. The media is eating it up and the town is in complete hysterics. Sam goes in with a plan to look for everything the cops wouldn't know to look for, and form a theory from there. He doesn't even get that far.<p>

It takes Sam by surprise outside his motel, knocks him in the back of the head with a rock or something that feels a helluva lot like one. When he comes around he's in a cage on a platform; it reminds Sam of an antique freak show cage. The room looks like an unfinished basement of a house, with dirt walls and support beams above his head, and a single light bulb in the ceiling. It may be a storm shelter. There's nothing in the cage but a blue water jug, and the door to the cage has been welded shut. At this point, the odds definitely are not in his favor.

"It's not much but it has a certain homey feel to it, don't you think?"

The voice makes Sam startle. He squints in the dim light and spots a figure lounging on the steps that lead up to the wooden shelter doors.

"Yeah, you're a real Martha Stewart. What do you want?"

The man chuckles and makes his way down the steps. When he's within eye shot and in the direct light, Sam sees his eyes flash a bright purple. A sneer pulls at Sam's lip, "Shifter."

"Hunter," the shifter taunts back and lazily puts his hands in his front pockets, "Glad we got that out of the way."

"You're the one who's been killing all those people," Sam states.

"Yep."

"Why?"

The shifter's dressed like a high class businessman with a subtle pin striped suit, and short cropped hair. The smarmy smile on his face makes Sam want to shudder.

"Because I have everything the perfect serial killer lacks. They can't trace my DNA, they can't use eye witness accounts; I'm stronger, faster, I'm unbeatable," The shifter says and grins, "So why not?"

"So why not kill me like all the others? Why go through the trouble of kidnapping me?" Sam's not going to admit to being scared. He's seen crazy before but this shifter is a real piece of work, and he has no backup, no weapons, no plan B, and no brother to bail him out. Sam's alone.

The shifter moves in close and grabs the bars to the cage with both hands, looming over Sam. "Because you're a hunter," The disgust and hate burns viciously in the shifter's eyes as it stares down at Sam like he's an insect, "And that means you get special treatment."

The shifter glances over at the jug of water in the corner, "You have four gallons. If you make it last you might survive a month, maybe a little more. It's all up to you. Hell, you might want to think about making it quick and not touching it at all."

The dread and panic hits Sam like a sucker punch. The shifter's going to leave him down there to starve to death. Or die of dehydration. Whichever happens first. It's not the dying that scares him, not really. It's the fact that Dean is coming back from hell in three months and Sam's never going to see him again. He broke his promise and got sloppy on a hunt, and now he's going to die because of it. Dean's going to come back from hell alone and it's all Sam's fault.

"I'll be back to clean up the mess in a few months," the shifter says as starts back up the stairs, "Enjoy your stay."

The wooden doors of the shelter slam shut and specks of dirt fall from the ceiling. The silence that follows is all encompassing and the only things Sam can hear are his pounding heart, and his erratic breathing. The darkness presses in on him and tears burn his eyes. He was so close. _They_ were so close. Three months are all that separate him from his brother and now…

Sam lets loose a primal, agonized yell that echoes and taunts him in the dirt basement. It's all over now.

* * *

><p>Sometime later Sam meticulously runs his fingers over the entire cage looking for weaknesses. He doesn't find any.<p>

* * *

><p>He can't keep track of time so he keeps track of the water, which he's barely touched. He decided to starve instead of die of thirst on the off chance that Bobby would figure out what happened, and send in the cavalry. It's a crap shot but Sam'll take it. At this point any shot is better than no shot.<p>

* * *

><p>There's a dent in the water and the hunger is becoming unbearable. The cramps are never ending and he constantly feels nauseous and dizzy. He resists the urge to drink more just to make it stop.<p>

* * *

><p>Half the water's gone and Sam's fallen into numbness. He thinks he's going crazy. Sometimes he hears Dean's voice and it's so loud Sam could swear his brother was right there next to him. He'd almost believe the delusion if Dean weren't talking about things from their childhood like games they used to play or drills they used to hate. If Dean were really here, he'd be bitching about needing a cheeseburger, and asking Sam if he was ok with badly veiled concern.<p>

It's all in his head and he knows that, but it doesn't stop him from taking comfort in Dean's voice.

* * *

><p>He hears Bobby.<p>

"Oh my god. Sam?"

Only it's not in his head this time, it's real.

The beam of the flashlight hits him and makes his eyes feel like they're on fire. He hisses in pain like something feral and wild.

"Sorry, kid. Hold on, I'm gonna getchya outta there."

It takes a while. There's no electricity down there save the single light bulb that Bobby doesn't dare turn on, so he had to find the biggest pair of cutters he could and work at making a door in the cage. Once it's open, Bobby reaches in and slides a pair of sunglasses over Sam's face, "Keep your eyes closed, Sam. It's daylight out there."

Sam barely moans in response.

Bobby pulls him out of the cage as gently as he can, paying no mind to his filthy clothes covered in dirt, urine, and sweat. "C'mon, let's get you to a hospital." Sam's nothing but skin and bones, massively underweight and malnourished. When he gets Sam to the Impala and situated in the backset, he curls up like a wounded kitten, his head pillowed by Dean's leather jacket.

* * *

><p>It's been a week since Sam was rescued and he can finally stay awake for more than ten minutes. He was missing for twenty five days. Sam suspects he was captive for that long too. Bobby was tipped off when Sam stopped answering his phone. He tracked the cell's GPS signal and picked up on all the murders in the same town. It wasn't hard to put two and two together. The shifter continued killing after it kidnapped Sam, eight more people, to be exact, before Bobby put him down. Then it was just a matter of eliminating the likely locations of the shifter's lair until he found Sam. Bobby doesn't know if he should be lucky that he found Sam in time or heartbroken that it took as long as it did. Sam doesn't seem to have an opinion either way, and that scares Bobby more than he wants to admit.<p>

* * *

><p>It's ten minutes until hell releases Dean.<p>

Sam's sitting on the same sand dune that he and his brother sat on three years ago, trying to hold it together while he said goodbye for what felt like the final time. The past three years have been hard. There were times where Sam felt like he couldn't do it anymore, that he didn't care if he came back from a hunt alive or if he woke up the next day. He kept fighting because Dean asked him to, because he had no other choice. He just didn't realize how much he wanted to fight until the shifter took the option away from him.

The ocean's calm tonight and the air is sticky, much like it was three years ago. Sam wonders if that ever really changes in the South. Despite the muggy air, he still feels a chill. He's still painfully thin. He was in the hospital for almost two weeks before they finally released him, and he's been spending the last month or so at Bobby's recuperating. But between the nightmares, anxiousness, and stress it's been hard putting the weight back on. He never said anything but Sam thinks Bobby was close to hauling him back to the hospital. He also thinks the only reason he didn't was so that Sam didn't risk missing this.

Two minutes to midnight and Sam starts walking down the sand dune. Dean's amulet is around his neck and his jacket is in the Impala, right where it's been for the past three years. His bare feet walk over the smooth, half covered planks in the sand that lead up to the dock. It shouldn't be long now.

* * *

><p>Midnight.<p>

Dean breaks the water of the surface right by the dock, flailing and gasping as if he'd been underwater for a few seconds too long. He shakes his head, trying to clear the saltwater from his face.

Sam's heart is in his throat as he picks up his pace to a near run, "Dean!"

Dean coughs a few times and then swims the few paces to the dock, and pulls himself up. Sam's halfway to him by the time Dean's on his feet. Dean looks exactly the same as he did three years ago: black tee shirt, jeans, boots that are now water logged, short spiky hair. Just Sam's big brother.

When Dean's within touching distance, Sam launches forward, wrapping his boney arms around him tightly. Dean returns the embrace, holding on just as hard.

"Hey, Sammy."

Sam lets out a sound that's half sob and half laugh, "Hey."

He feels Dean's arms shift and tighten again, and Sam knows that he's feeling every rib in his chest and every knob of his spine. Dean pulls back and looks him over quickly in concern. "You doing a new fasting thing that I need to know about?"

Sam wants to both laugh and cry, "Something like that."

Sam doesn't know what happened to Dean while he was in hell. He doesn't even know if _Dean_ knows what happened in hell, but he knows that it was probably fifty times worse than the hell Sam lived in on earth. And honestly, right now he doesn't want to think or talk about any of it.

"Let's just…let's just get out of here, ok?"

Dean squints at him as if he wants to protest, "Yeah. Yeah, ok. You're not off the hook though, you got me?"

Sam smiles and it feels like the first real smile he's felt in three years, "Yeah. I got you."

They both have new wounds and scars, some that may never heal, but Sam knows it'll be ok. They've been patching each other up with dental floss, whiskey, bad tv, and oceans for as long as he can remember. They always get by one way or another, he doesn't think this time will be any different.

* * *

><p>AN: Yikes this turned into a beast. This all actually came from a dream. It was one of those dreams that switches point of view so sometimes I was watching Sam, and sometimes I _was_ Sam. It was really intense and trippy; I even woke up with tears in my eyes. One of the main things I remember from the dream Sam and Dean hugging on the dock, and Sam was damn near skeletal. I have no idea why so I had to fill in the blanks.


	2. The Road Back

My lovely and awesome friend Scribble2Much mentioned a follow up to Dante's Penitentiary. I hadn't planned on doing a sequel or a second chapter but the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. So, thanks to Scribble2Much for the inspiration :)

**Notes:** Again, it's pretty much AU because it doesn't follow season 3 or anything after that. Err, it's also AU because technically three years for Sam would be three hundred years for Dean, and I imagine he'd be a demon by the end of that (or at least a lot more messed up). All things considering, I go really easy on him…mostly because if I messed him up as much as he _should_ be messed up, we'd be here forever.

**Beware** of: Language, a few hell references and generally awful stuff, angst, and bro mos of epic proportions. No, seriously, there's smarm ahead.

* * *

><p><strong>The Road Back<br>**

* * *

><p>The first thing he tells Dean about is Yellow Eyes. The hunt for that demon has been their legacy and mission for years, and it's only right that Dean knows that the bastard is finally dead. When he tells him, Dean kind of blinks in surprise and then breaks out into an honest, proud grin, "Way to go, Sammy," is what he says and then, "Wish I could've been there to see it."<p>

Sam doesn't tell him that he would've traded anything in the world for Dean to have seen the demon take it's last breath. He doesn't tell Dean that after he killed the demon, he drove all the way back down south to the beach Dean disappeared from, just to feel a little bit connected to the family Yellow Eyes had taken. Instead he offers a small smile at the praise and replies, "Me too."

* * *

><p>One of the first things he asks about is Sam's weight, or lack thereof, to be more specific. When he does, Sam's face blanks out and his bony body turns rigid. "A hunt went bad a few months before you were set free. Bobby bailed me out."<p>

Dean stares for a moment. "You're gonna have to do better than that, Sam."

A thin line of determination sets across Sam's mouth. It's a look that Dean's familiar with, having seen it countless times before, and it's a look that he loathes. It's not Sam's defiant look, not really. It's Sam's defensive look, the look he gives when he's not ready to talk about something so he's going to dig in his heels. Dean got that look a lot after Jessica died.

"Tell me about hell," is Sam's counter.

Dean immediately shuts down as snippets of agony, terror, blood, and desolation flash through his mind. He shakes his head, mostly to clear the images but also to tell Sam to screw off. He can't talk about that. Even if he could, he doesn't want Sam to know what happens in the pit…what happened to _him_ in the pit.

Instead of starting something he drops the subject. He figures as long as Sam's alive, that's all that matters.

* * *

><p>Dean doesn't really talk about hell. Sam wants him to, if not to relieve some of Dean's pain then to distract Sam from his own. But Dean doesn't seem too eager to bring it up. What he does seem eager to bring up is Sam's weight, Sam's sleeping habits, Sam's new withdrawn tendencies, and Sam's nightmares. Basically, Dean wants to talk about all the things Sam is trying to avoid. What does he even say? How does he even begin to articulate the pain and loneliness that sunk into his very soul over the past three years, on top of the whole damn month he spent starving in a cage? How does someone begin to describe that? He can't, so he doesn't.<p>

* * *

><p>When he's not thinking about hell or how to get through the next day, Dean thinks about Sam. He thinks about the hunt Sam apparently went on and what could've caused him to drop so much weight. It crosses his mind that maybe it was a gradual thing, that maybe over the past three years stress, grief, and loneliness affected Sam's appetite. He doesn't think that's right, though. He's seen Sam grieve before and it just doesn't add up. Plus it doesn't explain the hunt that Sam mentioned. He briefly thinks about calling Bobby to get the story but decides that it's too early to call in reinforcements. And selfishly, he almost doesn't want to know. If he can't even look his own problems in the face, how is he supposed to face Sam's? Before hell he never would've thought to ignore the fact that something happened to his little brother. He supposes that's part of what makes it hell, though. It strips you of who you are until there's nothing left but helplessness, pain, and humiliation. Truth is, he just doesn't know how to be 'Dean' anymore.<p>

* * *

><p>They don't talk much anymore outside of necessary comments. Sam figures it's more out of exhaustion than anything. He's tired of waking up from a nightmare, thinking the darkness of the motel is the actually the solitary confinement of the shapeshifter's cage, or thinking that Dean's still dead. Dean's tired of walling up hell, desperately trying to keep Sam from seeing it. They're both tired of keeping up the facade. So instead of talking, they hunt. For a month or so they cross the country, killing every bad thing in their path just so they can ignore their own bad things. It's a great system…until they come across a shapeshifter.<p>

* * *

><p>Dean thinks it could be worse, all things considering. Sam's gaining weight (finally) and sure, his little brother's still distant, but Dean figures it'll straighten itself out in time. As for him, well, he's just thankful that he's finally stopped smelling sulfur. They've been hitting the hunt pretty hard but you won't find him complaining about it. What kinda worries him is that Sam isn't complaining about it, because this is the exact type of unhealthy avoidance that Sam would usually disapprove of. Some days he thinks about bugging Sam about it, asking what has him so keyed up that he's turning to the hunt. Most days he's too relieved to bother. That is, until they run into a shifter in Grafton, Wisconsin. Things kinda go to shit after that.<p>

* * *

><p>Grafton is cold, like the rest of Wisconsin, Sam figures. The air is crisp with fall and he can see his breath when he exhales. Dean doesn't seem to mind; he's always liked the colder states, especially since he's been back from hell. Sam's noticed but hasn't said anything, mostly because Dean would shrug it off and it'd make them both think about those three years that they were separated. But they're in this tundra of a state because people are going missing. Some of the bodies turned up, all of them covered in blood with their faces frozen in fear, but there's no obvious pattern or blatant hint to what's going on. Yet the whole thing has Sam's gut churning in trepidation. The case feels too much like Virginia but Sam knows that it's impossible. Even if it is a shapeshifter, there's no way it's <em>the<em> shapeshifter; Bobby killed that one before he saved Sam's sorry ass. Right?

"Sam?"

He blinks and realizes that Dean's staring at him, and has apparently been trying to get his attention for some time. His hands are trembling and he quickly, but nonchalantly, shoves them in his jacket pockets to keep Dean from noticing.

"What?" Sam asks and hopes it doesn't come out too defensively.

"You want the library or the morgue?"

"Library," Sam quickly says.

Dean squints at him again but just shakes his head, "Geek."

They separate and Sam can't help but be grateful that Dean hates research.

* * *

><p>Sam's acting kinda weird but that's not too out of the ordinary now days. What <em>is<em> out of the ordinary was the flash of terror in Sam's eyes when he spaced out. Dean's seen his brother scared more than a few times before (and after) he came back from hell. He's not blind; he knows Sam's been having frequent nightmares, and he's seen the look in Sam's eyes when he snaps awake. What he doesn't know is if the nightmares are about the hunt that went bad while Dean was in hell, of if they're about all the other missing time. Maybe both.

Dean frowns as he pulls into the hospital parking lot, realizing that he's actually really bothered that he doesn't know what's going on in Sam's head or even what the hell really happened with his little brother over the past three years. It bothered him in the beginning too, but then hell was too fresh and too overwhelming to let him really dwell on it. Now hell's receded enough to let the lack of information nag him. He gets out of the car, thinking that maybe it's finally time for them to have a talk over a beer or something, maybe later tonight after they do their initial case recon.

That plan goes to hell when he gets a phone call from the police station.

* * *

><p>Sam doesn't know what he's looking for. The victims are all random and none of them have anything in common except for the fact that they're all dead. The town doesn't have any history that suggests something that works in cycles (like a werewolf) is involved, and the wounds on the body aren't consistent with anything animal related anyways. In a lot of ways, this just looks like a run-of-the-mill serial killer case; tragic, but not anything they can take care of.<p>

Unless it's a shifter.

The possibility has been bothering Sam all day. It's not the fact that it could be a shifter, it's the fact that the victims are random, that the deaths are popping up so quickly, and that they've all been tortured until they're nearly unrecognizable. It's the fact that the case in Virginia was identical, down to the last confusing detail. Sam knows Bobby said the shifter was dead but what _if_?

Sam sighs and pushes away from the library computer, intending to stand. When he turns to walk away, he's cut off by a college age guy who's walking by.

Sam startles, "Sorry, man. I…"

He stops, starring in fascinated horror as the stranger's eyes flash. A sudden anger, something that may resemble vengeance, fills Sam like a drug. Determination settles across his shoulders as he takes the first swing. Distantly, he wonders if there's anything sharp and silver in the library.

* * *

><p>"You what?" Dean asks into the phone incredulously.<p>

Sam sighs from the other end, "I'm in jail. I need you to pick me up or bail me out, or something."

"What do you mean you're in jail? Sam, I left you in a damn _library_."

"It's a long story. Just come get me, please?"

Dean pauses. Despite the fact that he's annoyed and ok, a little pissed, he can't help but respond to the fact that Sam's obviously upset, and he gets the feeling that it isn't because Sam's in jail.

"Yeah, alright. I'll be there in fifteen."

Dean ends up getting the story from the cop. Sam "brutally" attacked some kid in the library after he almost bumped into Sam. The guy, 24 year old Casey Pollick, is in the emergency room with a busted face, a wrenched arm, and a few broken ribs. The cops tell Dean that witnesses described the attack as one of "pure rage," and "completely spontaneous…the guy just snapped."

But they don't know Sam Winchester like Dean does, and Dean knows that no matter how screwed up Sam is, he'd never attack a civilian unless he had a legitimate reason to. He just needs to find out what that reason was.

"Ok. Can I see him?" Dean asks.

The cop eyes him, "You have five minutes. I suggest you use that time to discuss a lawyer."

Sam looks awful. He's twitchy, sweaty, and his eyes are rimmed with red. To an outsider, he'd probably look like a druggie, especially with his still too-skinny frame. Good thing Dean isn't an outsider and knows that this is Sam freaked right the hell out.

"What happened?" Dean asks through the cell bars.

"I thought he was a shifter," is the dejected reply, "Thought I saw his eyes flash. It was just a reflection of the computer's screen."

Oh. That makes sense. What doesn't make sense is why Sam looks so positively wrecked.

"Ok, and?"

Sam shrugs, "And what? I screwed up."

Dean rolls his eyes, "I mean, why do you still look spooked?"

The reaction is instantaneous. Sam tenses up and sets his mouth, his classic, "I'm not talking about it," pose. Dean clenches his jaw and digs in his own heels.

"We're talking about this, Sam. You just attacked some poor bastard in a _library _and you've been acting off for weeks. Something's up, so spill."

"You mean the way you spill about hell?" Sam replies.

Dean's eyes narrow at the deflection, "It's not gonna work like that this time."

He can see that Sam has something absolutely scathing on the tip of tongue but the police officer interrupts, saying that visiting time is over so unless Dean has bail, he needs to get his ass out. Dean does plan on using their emergency cash to bail Sam out, but he has another stop to make first.

* * *

><p>The jail doors slide open to reveal Dean waiting with his patent "big brother" expression. Sam winces and almost wishes he was staying in jail, because facing Dean while he's like this is never fun.<p>

"How'd you get me out?" Sam asks.

"Posted bail and talked to the kid you annihilated. I told him you had some PTSD issues, convinced him to drop the charges."

Sam swallows, feeling simultaneously ashamed for his actions and grateful that he has Dean for a brother.

"Thank you."

Dean grunts in response and leads the way out to the Impala. Sam hesitates for a second and then follows him. They drive for a while, passing the motel they've been staying in, and then breaking through the city limits. Sam throws a questioning glance at Dean but Dean faces forward resolutely.

They end up on the shore of Lake Michigan.

Sam tenses up, "Dean…"

Dean doesn't saying anything, just gets out of the car and lets the sound of crashing waves fill the car. Sam doesn't want to get out. Being back at the beach, even if it's not _the_ beach, only reminds him of losing Dean. But he can't stay in the car and he's genuinely curious why Dean brought them here when they both have something against sandy shores.

* * *

><p>There's a giant log on the shore a few yards away from where the water is making ripples in the sand. Dean sits on it and waits for Sam to catch up. After a few moments Sam doesn't disappoint and plops down next to Dean.<p>

"What are we doing here?" Sam's voice is tight with restrained anger and Dean imagines, anxiety. Even Dean's feeling a little twitchy being here so he imagines that Sam's feeling it too.

He shrugs, "I figure the demon's taken everything else from us, I don't think he gets to have this too. Do you?"

After a moment Sam shakes his head but he's still tense, clearly uncomfortable.

"What happened while I was gone, Sam?"

"What happened while you were in hell, Dean?"

Dean is ready for the response, counting on it even.

"I'll tell you if you tell me," Dean replies, trying to keep the nervous tremor out of his voice.

He feels more that sees Sam look at him in surprise, "Really?"

"Really."

Sam's silent for a moment, unsure of how to start. He thinks back over the past three years and feels the residual pain that was always present in his chest. He thinks of all the hunts he went on alone, wishing Dean had been there to back him up. He thinks of the injuries he had to patch up himself and the few hospital stays that he withstood without his brother. He thinks of the shifter and holds back a shudder.

"The first thing I did was go after Jake," Sam starts, "I went to Bobby's like you told me to and we went after him."

"What happened?"

"All the signs pointed to this old cemetery in Wyoming. Yellow Eyes was planning something, never really found out what. But he sent Jake there to set something in motion and I…" Sam pauses, remembering how the gun felt in his hands, the way Jake hit the ground, "I emptied a whole clip in him. Think I scared Bobby."

_I scared myself_ is what he's really saying, but he knows Dean will hear it even without the words.

"If you hadn't of done it, I would've," Dean replies, and it's forgiveness and acceptance all at once.

"I know," Sam says but what he really means is,_ Thank you_.

"What else?"

Sam half shrugs, "Nothing much. Hunted a lot."

"C'mon, Sam," Dean says, "Thought we had a deal, here."

"I know. It's your turn."

Dean breathes out through his nose, "What do you wanna know?"

"Nothing," Sam replies, "I just don't want you to be in it alone, that's all."

Dean smiles softly and shakes his head because that's just so _Sam_, wanting to know the most horrific things a person could know just so that Dean didn't have to suffer through it alone. It's things like this that remind him why he made the deal, of why he just can't imagine his life without Sam in it.

"Time moves different there," he starts, starring into the endless dark horizon of the lake, "Here it was just a few years but there…it was centuries. Three hundred years."

Sam stays silent but Dean can hear the way his next inhale trembles with oncoming tears.

"Each soul is assigned a demon. Mine was hell's best, or so I was told. Sure felt like it. Some of the things he did…" Dean pauses as his own breath catches in unforgotten fear. If he closes his eyes long enough he can feel the way the metal rack seared into his skin; he can see Alastair looming over him with a twisted grin.

"At the end of every day he'd make me an offer. He'd let me off the rack if I was willing to start torturing souls. And every day I told him to shove it. I told him that for as long as I could, but then…"

Sam doesn't need Dean to finish the thought to know what happened. At some point - it might've been fifty years, it may have been two hundred - Dean wasn't strong enough to say no anymore. He also knows that the thing that's been tearing Dean up the most all this time wasn't that he was tortured, it was that _he_ tortured.

"The last day I was there," Dean continues and Sam can hear the tears in his voice, "They put you in front of me. I guess they wanted to send me off with a bang. I knew it wasn't you but they had you down to the last detail - right down to your scars. And I just couldn't. God help me Sammy, I got right back on that rack because I couldn't…"

When Sam puts a hand on Dean's shoulder, wanting to support but not crowd, he can't help but think ignorance is bliss. He always tried not to imagine the awful things that were happening to his brother in hell, but now that he has a glimpse of reality, he wishes he was back to just running scenarios through his head.

Dean has his head bowed into his palm, hunched foreword as if he has a headache. Sam can see him trying to get himself under control, trying to reign in the tears and stomp out the fires of hell. He doesn't know the details of Dean's time in hell and he probably never will. What he does know is that it was beyond the realm of agony and horror, and that Dean's probably never going to be the same. But he also knows that his big brother is the bravest, strongest person he knows, and if there's anyone in the world who can get through this, it's Dean.

Sam squeezes his brother's shoulder one last time as Dean straightens and wipes his face. One day he'll tell Dean that there's no shame in what he did, and that his actions in hell doesn't make him any less of the hero he is on earth. Dean won't listen if he tells him now, but one day, maybe over some beer, he'll let him know.

"It's your turn," Dean says after his walls are firmly back in place, just as high but maybe not as strong.

Sam snorts lightly, "It kinda pales in comparison."

"Don't care," Dean replies, "I don't care how small you think it is, it's been tearin' you up for weeks. I know I was gone for a while but I'm still your big brother."

Normally, years ago, the statement might've sparked some annoyance. But now, after everything that's happened, Dean's reassurance is nothing but comforting. For three years he didn't _have_ a big brother and he missed it more than he can say. To hear Dean reassure him, to just be there for him, means more than he can say.

"It was in Virginia, a few months before you were set free. Got wind of some murders that were going on, really nasty stuff, you know? No suspects, no evidence, no patterns, just a lot of bloody bodies."

Dean shifts next to him and Sam wonders if it's because he's making the connections between the Virginia case and _this_ case.

"Wasn't even in town a day. Don't know if I was just clumsy or if the bastard was just that good, but he got me in the back of the head in the motel parking lot," Sam says and shakes his head at how easily the shifter took him down, "When I came around, I was in some sort of storm shelter…in a cage, welded shut."

He's never really talked about this. Bobby already knew what happened because he was the one who found Sam, and outside of Bobby, no one else would care. Being forced to talk about it is like being forced to admit that it's not just a reoccurring nightmare; it really happened and it was really bad.

"Hey," Dean says softly as he knocks his knee into Sam's, "You with me?"

Sam can hear the worry blatantly in Dean's voice and it makes him feel ashamed. Dean went through things Sam can't even imagine and still managed to talk about it, even if it wasn't the full blown story. Sam was in a tight spot for a month and he's having trouble getting through the first sentences.

"It was a shifter," Sam forces himself to say, "A really, really disturbed shifter. He murdered all those people just because he could. But he said I was different."

Sam swallows the lump in his throat and tries not to think of anything but the lull of Lake Michigan, and his brother's presence.

"He left me in the cage with four gallons of water and a choice," Sam shrugs, "I knew it was a long shot but I figured if I could hold out as long as possible, Bobby might figure it out and bust me out of there. Good thing I did."

"How long were you down there?"

"About a month, give or take a few days."

Dean hangs his head for a moment and then rubs a hand over his face, "Jesus."

"It's not that bad," Sam says, even though he can still smell the dirt and feel the way insects would crawl over his bare skin in the dark.

"Don't you do that," Dean protests fiercely, "Don't you dare try to treat this like a paper cut. You were left in a cage to starve to death for a month. You're still a bag of bones four months later. Don't try to tell me that it's no big deal."

"It's not. Compared to what you went through. I wasn't tortured."

"You weren't? What would call what happened to you? This isn't a competition, Sam. What happened to you was every bit as awful as what happened to me. And at least I knew I was bustin' out one day, you…"

Dean stops and stares at the side of Sam's face. Sam faces straight ahead, jaw stiff with remembered fear and held back tears. It's then that the whole story starts to sink in. A whole month with no food and nothing but the sound of your own existence, darkness at all hours of the day, not knowing how much time has passed or how much longer you were gonna last. Dean had been in hell a long time, he can imagine a lot of awful things; what Sam went through would definitely be on his list.

"You didn't think you were going to get out, did you?" Dean asks softly, sympathetically.

Sam shakes his head in small, jerky movements.

Dean pauses for a minute before asking, "You wanna tell me anything else?"

The younger Winchester thinks about the pain of the stomach cramps, never ending and sharp as a knife, and hearing Dean's voice in the darkness. He thinks about having no choice but to urinate in the corner, just feet away from where he slept. He thinks of how much he wanted it to end even though it would mean never seeing Dean again. He thinks of all that and knows that he'll never be able to voice it out loud, just like Dean'll never tell him about some of the things that happened to him in hell.

"No. Nothing else," Sam says.

He can feel Dean's eyes on the side of his face, as if he doesn't quite believe Sam. He can feel the moment where Dean decides to drop it.

"And that's why you freaked out on the kid at the library. Guess I wasn't too off the mark when I fed him that PTSD story."

"Yeah, guess not."

"You think it's the same shape shifter?" In a twisted way, Dean kind of hopes it is. He doesn't want Sam to be in that kind of danger but he _does_ want to tear apart the monster that hurt his brother so badly. If he ever came across the shapeshifter who locked Sam in that cage, he'd have no problem showing it the skills he picked up in the pit.

"Don't think so," Sam replies, "Bobby said he killed it before he found me."

The possibility still hangs in the air between them. In their line of work making assumptions will get you killed.

"Guess we have a case to solve then. Let's shake a leg."

Dean stands and waits for Sam to do the same, and they walk back to the car shoulder to shoulder.

"Hey, Sam?" Dean says as he opens the driver side door. Sam looks up at him from over the roof of the car. "It's ok, if you're not over it. You don't have to hide it from me."

Sam nods and looks down, but not before Dean catches the look of gratitude and love that flashes across his face. When Sam looks back up he simply says, "You either," with honest sincerity and his patented puppy dog eyes.

Dean snorts, "You're such a girl." Despite the ribbing, he makes sure that the same gratitude is on his face when he says it. He knows Sam will get the message; they're brothers, after all. The first full dimpled grin he's seen on Sam's face in months lets him know that Sam heard it loud and clear.

They're still messed up, sure. There's still some horrible thing or person out there slaughtering people, and there'll probably be another one just like it next week. But the Winchesters are together again and Dean thinks that in the light of things, that's the best he can ask for. Actually if he's honest with himself, it's probably all he'd ever ask for.

* * *

><p>AN: Ok, now this time it really is complete lol. I hope you enjoyed it!


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